


A Friendlier Bet

by holysmotez



Series: Foolish Wagers & Shenanigans [2]
Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Crack, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Filthy, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Kinda, M/M, Max overthinking shit, Max perspective, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Ridiculous, idiots who deserve each other, mysophilia, this got surprisingly sort of sweet by the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22406662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holysmotez/pseuds/holysmotez
Summary: Max should really call off the bet.
Relationships: Maximillian DeSoto/Felix Millstone
Series: Foolish Wagers & Shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612510
Comments: 21
Kudos: 64





	A Friendlier Bet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm back with this pairing in a continuation of "A Friendly Bet". This is semi-crack dedicated to the very important question as to who would give better head: person who spent time in prison, or person who grew up in back-bays. I hope you'll enjoy the results!

For the nth time that day, Max adjusts his unruly cock. The events of that morning continue to dog him as he resumes his attack on yet another dried purpleberry stain on the kitchen floor. A heavy glob of antibacterial and a dish rag barely makes a dent. He should have called off this stupid, ridiculous bet by now. 

He had never been sucked off like that before. Much less want to come back for seconds in no time flat. Not even in prison. Not even when he was an eighteen-year-old trading blowjobs with line workers behind a Zero Gee bottling factory. And at his age?

Felix mumbles out a curse from somewhere behind him. Max shuts his eyes. Laws, what was wrong with him? Was this what it feels like to snap back after straying too far from the path? And fuck, why were purpleberry stains so hard to remove? People ingest this stuff. 

If scrubbing floors like a misbehaving child weren't enough of a wake up call, the blank expression on his Captain's face should have been enough to chasten him back into his good senses. He was lucky the Captain didn't throw him out on his backside for destruction to morale. Ring his bell for such flagrant debauchery. Bowl him over with the stern lecture about indulging himself in meaningless contests, a blowjob contest no less, and that such antics were beneath a member of his vocation. That this wasn't Tartarus anymore. 

He sighs. He knows those last thoughts were in his voice, not the Captain's. He doesn't advertise it much, but self-flagellation is up there on his list of specialties. And after so many hellish years of life in Halcyon, and he also knows he doesn't need to impress anyone. With life expectancy statistics so far down the shitter, he's more than proven himself in this law-forsaken colony. He's survived for this long, hadn't he? And every scar and scrap of his knowledge has been hard-earned. He only need prove himself useful to his Captain and the crew they kept.

A Captain and crew who probably expected a baseline level of maturity and sensibility from the ship's vicar. A voice of reason. Not someone who'd give in to the obvious and childish taunting from some back-bays brat. 

But knowing and doing are two different things, and would presume he were on a vastly different existential trajectory. One of the first lessons an aspiring man of the cloth learns in the seminary is that accepting the inevitability of the Grand Plan does not confer a clearer comprehension of its myriad manifestations. Quite the contrary, in fact. All that becomes clearer is that the human species, informed by flawed psyches generated by little more than delicate masses of neurons, can only stumble along on its imperfect path. What our limited chemistry can comprehend, however, is the average of all our advances and setbacks, both as individuals and as a species, like it were a wavelength on a medium. In this way, little by little, the muddy picture of our predefined role comes into better focus. And the OSI, then, is meant to be a guiding hand, and that by guiding individuals along on their broken paths towards true purpose, they guide humanity as a whole closer towards its own.

During his time serving in this guiding capacity in settlements like Edgewater, he envied the lifetime laborers who passed through his church who had what he liked to call _unburdened_ intellects. Intelligent enough to find their daily toil worthwhile, but too dim to perceive the injustices of their station. For example, people who cleaned kitchen floors but never questioned why it was dirtier than a cystypig pen in the first place. Because _someone_ on this ship didn't want to pick up their Fish Stix that fell on the floor and got stepped on, apparently. 

But then there are those who were unburdened in a different way. Enter one Felix Millstone. 

Back-bay pup and rebel extraordinaire. How quaint he was. From the moment he swept onboard like dock trash blown in from the Captain's wake, he was as persistent as a sprat infestation and twice as exasperating. The existence of Felix makes his quest for the Equation all the more urgent, if only so he can understand how an ordered universe might produce such a source of pure chaos. 

The worst thing about Felix is that he was the sort who was just clever enough to be dangerous. A smartass with as much heart as misguided arrogance. He had never met someone like Felix who both understood too much and too little all at once-- and that was just when it involved tossball statistics. His existence was a churning, volatile mix of idiocy and flashes of brilliance and whose short journey on his existential path would be no doubt be rife with self-inflicted kneecaps, and with collateral damage to boot. 

And as of this morning, Max could add 'cock-sucking professional' to the young man's short list of talents. Basically, Felix was what he might call a living, breathing test of the faith. 

"Hey, Vic," says the infuriating young man who can't seem to stop plaguing his thoughts.

Max looks over his shoulder. Says, "Back to 'Vic' now, are we?"

"Whatever. Pass me some more antibacterial. I think I found an old boarst pocket back here."

Max makes a face. Passes him the antibacterial. 

* * *

Later, as Max rests on the cot in his quarters, staring up at the endless pattern of seams and rivets, he occupies himself with the enigma of human irrationality. Why the Captain took a shine to Felix so fast might be as elusive to him as the Universal Equation. 

His own burden of irrationality - one he'll readily admit - is that he has a competitive streak the size of a rapt during mating season. Whether it was a necessary adaptation to prison life, or prison simply nurtured into bloom what was already there, it had only become more deep-seated and hair-trigger since he got out. And since he lent his service to the Captain? The weight of it became downright crushing at times. 

But everyone has their burdens. This one was simply his to carry. One benefit he can credit to his OSI training is a practiced self-control and mastery over one's baser instincts. As a result, balancing his lust for dominance over the weak with a far more civilized mindset is less precarious than it was during his youth. In fact, the Captain's example taught him to deploy it tactically, like a tamed canid on a leash. It was a lesser epiphany he did not expect from a stranger rolling into Edgewater, but he appreciated it nonetheless. And with the Captain providing him regular practice, he was becoming something of an expert at setting his unrepentant bloodlust loose upon an enemy dumb enough to cross them, and then tugging it back safely under control. 

But for some reason - some infuriating, Law-forsaken reason - all that training, all that discipline, all those lifetimes of purposeful meditation jettison right out the airlock when he looks across that hall and sees Felix sitting in his chair, oblivious to the magnitude of forces that make his trivial existence possible. 

The Captain wasn't always the brightest Rizzo in the box themselves, so perhaps it was a show of solidarity in breathtaking ignorance. Neither of them certainly didn't seem to notice that meanwhile, in the contemplative silence of his modest quarters, the ship's vicar was steadily losing all sense of balance he had so carefully constructed and maintained over the decades every second Mr. Millstone remained onboard.

And he is deadly serious on that count. His decisions that morning alone proved that his body was growing weaker by the day, no doubt a reflection of his spiritual weakness. Whenever Felix opened his big mouth, laws help him, he can't decide whether he wanted to silence it with either a tossball stick or his cock. 

Even now, it's taking more brain power than he's comfortable with to resist slipping his hand under his habit and lay a hand on himself. Stroke off with the bane of his thoughts sitting right there across the hall. Why did he had to wait until 1900 hours to fuck his throat again? If there was one thing that bothered him above all else about that morning, it was the enthusiasm with which Felix performed. That maybe it wasn't just for the sake of his lucky tossball. Like maybe Felix wanted to please him.

Fuck, his cock twitches again. He's not sure if he ever got soft the entire day. He didn't even bother to wash up. He tells himself he's playing dirty to see if Felix might forfeit at being presented with his tacky, smelly, disgusting cock for round two. Or maybe he's just trying to sabotage it so they can forget about this whole thing. Definitely not trying to sate his curiosity as to the extent of Felix's talents. But he has to fight down a groan imagining his nasty, come-smeared cock being sucked with that same enthusiasm. Maybe more. Filthy, and loving it.

And so the bet stays on. And at 1900 hours, he manages to keep himself from dashing out of his quarters. He reports to the kitchen, half hard already. He has no need to wonder whether The Captain still cared to help them settle their wager. The Captain was already present, leaning against what he personally ensured was a spotless kitchen table. 

"Captain," he greets. 

"Max."

"Are we still...?" How does one phrase a question like this? “On?” He has to make sure. 

The Captain answers, “I’m willing to see this through if you are. Besides, you did do a respectable job with the kitchen."

“Thank you, Captain. And for donating your time to uh, such matters.” He can’t make himself be more specific than that. That should tell him something, but he pointedly ignores it. Pride is on the line.

"I figure this is an opportunity to help you work out...whatever it is between you two. And to make sure it’s worked out.”

“I don’t know, Captain. Let’s hope Felix has the wherewithal.”

“Well, don’t hold back on my account.”

The thought of having his Captain's permission to let loose his thrashing beast upon Felix - tactically, of course - does things to him. But with practiced aplomb, he takes his place seated on the sofa. Across from him, a chair is pulled out and flipped around. An exact set-up as before.

Except that the ship is unusually quiet. "Where's the rest of the crew?" 

The Captain says, "SAM's still on his charging pad, and I suggested that everyone else go for some shore leave at the Last Hope. It'll just be the three of us. Uh, four of us."

"Should there be any disagreement with the results, I will be extensively documenting this interaction, as I had with the last," ADA informs them. Great. There was recorded evidence. Just what Max needed to know in that moment.

And in that moment, the time reads 1902 hours. Max raises a brow, and looks about the kitchen. "Except I only see two of us."

As soon as he says it, the muffled sound of a toilet flushing breaks the quiet. Felix steps out from the washroom.

He lurches to a halt when he notices him and the Captain. "Oh, shit. It's cock o'clock already?" he says. "Probably shouldn't have bothered to zip back up."

Max groans and rolls his eyes. Not because he's already hard at just the sound of Felix's stupid voice.

"Take your place," the Captain tells him, gesturing to the chair. "I've got shit to do and I'd rather not have this take all night."

"Uh, right. Okay. You got it, boss. So just to be clear, we are definitely still doing this thing?" Felix asks in an echo of Max's earlier query. As Felix sits down, he squirms. Glances everywhere but Max's eyes, as if they were magnetically repelled by his gaze. He actually looks a little nervous. Interesting.

"I'm not chickening out, if that's what you're asking," Max says.

Felix stops his fidgeting, crossing his arms. He scoffs. “Neither am I.”

The Captain says, "You two started this, so I'm going to finish it. And I want the bullshit between you two laid to rest for good after this, or you two can find yourselves a new Captain."

"That's fair," Felix says, shifting in his seat. He lifts his chin towards Max, like petulance itself rearing its ugly head. "It'll be my pleasure to put Max in his place. So long as he won't be a sore loser about it."

And so flaps that smart mouth, right on schedule. Max scoffs. "I'm not the one fidgeting like a clerk who got caught sneaking bits out of a register."

"Fuck you, I am not."

"A genius retort, as I've come to expect from your towering intellect. Don't hurt yourself coming up with more."

" _Gentlemen,_ " the Captain admonishes. 

Felix grumbles. Asks, "Alright, so we’re here then. Who's first?"

"Me, this time," Max says, sliding off his seat and onto his knees. He doesn't want them to know how turned on he is already, but he also wants to make sure he sweats a little, first. Get himself nice and ripe for this mouthy little sprat. And with his sudden motion, crawling towards him like a predator, Felix finally forces himself to meet his eyes.

Oh, he likes the surprise he sees in them. He likes the little jerk of his hips, a nervous tell Felix probably didn't even realize he had given. He likes the sound of his breath catching the instant hands are on his knees, spreading him wide. Likes the intense, musky scent he can already detect from Felix's budding arousal.

And above all, he likes having the audience, even if it were just the Captain. No, having just the Captain to watch is somehow even better. It feels like an honor to have his prowess observed and judged in such an intimate way. No sense in being bashful about it. 

He runs his hands up Felix's thighs, the latter shivering as he combines it with a bit of mouthing along the clothed outline of his cock. A halting breath rewards him when he takes a zipper between his teeth. Has his fly open in one deft pull.

"Damn," Felix says under his breath. 

A hot rush of air and musk spills out from his open fly. In a replay from earlier, Max digs in his fingers around the waistband and yanks his trousers down past his knees. Felix gasps at the roughness, and when his hardening cock bobs out into the open air. No underwear. Max shoots him an accusatory look.

"Shut up," is all the explanation he gets. 

Max doesn't pursue it, far more interested in the delicious skin now within his tongue's reach. As Max had learned that morning, Felix was not a disappointing specimen in the least. Outwardly clean-looking, thick head and veiny shaft. Delicious, and kind of perfect, if only for the way the soft flesh slides past Max's lips, filling up his mouth better than any meal.

He holds Felix in his mouth, keeping his cock warm as it plumps. Felix makes a pathetic sort of moan, hissing when Max sucks on him, tongues him, coaxes him into full hardness. The one thing he loves about sucking cock is how the complexity of the universe seems to condense and shrink down until it's just the two of them, the only two in the entire law-forsaken universe for the duration of one single, uncomplicated act. It's a comforting feeling as he bobs his lips along Felix's length, luxuriating in the simplicity.

Precome coats Max's tongue and he hums at the taste. Felix bucks at the sensation, cock bumping the back of his throat, but Felix wasn't the only one on the Unreliable who could control his gag reflex. Max encourages him, digging into the meat of his thigh and swallowing around him on a vicious downstroke. 

" _Max._ " 

A hand finds his hair, fingers scratch along his scalp, and Max almost loses it. Honest-to-Law loses it hearing his name said like that. Damn, he doesn't want to speed this up, but his self-control is breaking down faster than he likes. He touches a hand between Felix's thighs, under his balls, both as a warning and a question. 

"Yeah. Fuck yeah," Felix answers, spreading his legs apart even wider as an invitation. He continues to massage Max's scalp, and has taken to thrusting his hips into Max's face, freeing him to concentrate on slipping his questing finger between his cheeks.

Max gasps. Pulls off of Felix with a slick pop. It rips out a frustrated whine from the latter. Stares up at Felix, gobsmacked, while he waits for his brain to reboot itself. 

"What's the matter?" the Captain asks.

What was the _matter?_ Max almost laughs. Laughs like his last thread of sanity had finally snapped. Gaze never leaving Felix, caught in a maelstrom of disbelief and awe, he says it like a divine revelation: "You're _wet._ "

He confirms it by curling his fingers into the mess of lube pouring from Felix's asshole, making it squelch for all those present to hear. Felix twitches and writhes.

"Yeah, well..." Felix starts, swallowing a thick lump. "Wanted to come prepared."

That's what he was doing in the washroom. Prepping himself. And he had played it off like the appointed hour had slipped his mind.

Max wants to fuck him. Slam his pert little ass on that immaculate kitchen table and sink his cock inside. He's almost drooling for it. The thought - and its frightening urgency - startles him. Scares him shitless. Careens into him like a twenty-four car trainwreck. Because it confirms that this stupid little bet would not be the last time he involves himself with this unbelievable man. It was as if that muddy picture of his inevitable path had sharpened into focus and was now hitting him in the face.

"You alright there, preacher?" Felix prompts, wry and impish. Smartass back on the field. "You look like you just ate some bad boastwurst."

"Just fine," Max says, roughly curling up his index finger against his asshole. Wipes the smirk right off the brat's face. "Just a little _surprised._ " He pushes, and it slips right past the ring of muscle. Felix rolls his head back and groans out his approval, his hips jerking.

Laws have mercy, he could just devour him up right here and now. Max does the next best thing, wasting no time sucking down his straining length, not stopping until his nose brushes pubic hair. Pulls back, and does it again. He sinks a second finger inside Felix's wet, filthy ass, curling and probing until he hears him cry out. 

Max bobs and bobs, the noise so slick and filthy. Without preamble, he squeezes a third finger inside. "Max!" he hears, hips jerking both away and against the intrusion, but Max doesn't let up. He's not about to waste this prep work, this gift. He thrusts his fingers in and out, plays the young man like a void-damned professional musician, coaxing out the most beautiful notes from the young man's throat. He sucks him off faster, and faster...

The balls under his chin twitch and tighten. His name erupts from Felix's lips, broken and dragged through glass. It happens all under a split second and suddenly, he's got a mouth and sinus full of hot, salty spunk. He sputters and coughs, pulling off to jerk Felix through the rest of his orgasm. He wants to complain, but Felix keeps coming. Three more healthy spurts land across his stomach and lap before oxygen returns to his lungs with a gasp, with three fingers still planted firmly up his ass. It's so fucking hot to watch Max completely forgets what he was about to say.

"Shit," Felix says, gulping down air and gluing himself back together. Max slips his fingers out from his ass. He wants to replace them with his cock so badly, but that's for another day, because it's then he remembers that this is for a bet, and his Captain is watching.

"Your turn," Felix says, tucking himself back into his trousers haphazard. Not bothering to zip back up.

"My turn," Max parrots. He wipes his lip on his sleeve and leans back. Spreads his knees out wide. He's giddy. He’s not just a little sweaty. That blowie has him downright slippery between his own legs. He's as ripe as he's ever been, and he can't fucking wait to see what Felix will do when he uncovers it.

Felix settles in front of him, curling fingers under the hem of his habit. Then, as if he were expecting to find a flock of pteros hiding under it, he throws the cloth up and over his thighs. Max shivers when the cool air rushes in. 

Felix leans in to tuck back the habit behind his thighs, but stops with nostrils flaring. He squints. His brow furrows, using his limited brainpower to work out the situation. It’s a delight to watch. Then, he makes an indecipherable face.

"You... you didn't wash?” he says.

"Nope," Max affirms, popping the P. 

Felix huffs. Puffs. Amps up like he’s about to vomit. He says, "You're so...so fucking _nasty._ ”

But it's not exactly _repulsed._ In fact, with the way the sentence blows out of him, it's like he's thinking the opposite. In the same breathy way, he says, "And you acted like I was the freak."

"Seems we both like to wallow a bit," Max manages to say, throat tight, his heart thudding. Because what if it was true? What if Felix really was as dirty and depraved as he'd hoped? What if-

He gets the answer when Felix, lips loose and panting, pitches forward and starts to just _mash_ his face against his disgusting, filthy, sweaty, rank cock and balls, inhaling like it was void-damned ambrosia. 

And the truth settles in like Max had unlocked the Universal Equation itself. Sure as fucking destiny, he was going to fuck this man. He was going to fuck him every chance he got. It was his inevitable path, plain as the recycled air he breathed. 

And if it wasn’t? If this is what it meant to stray from one’s predefined role in this cruel life? Then he didn’t get a wet sloppy shit about it, nor this stupid bet. He would enjoy this for as long as he could let himself. 

Which, regrettably, may not be long at all. Felix licks a hot, wet stripe up his cock, moaning as he savors what must be a truly _complex_ flavor. It’s almost too enthusiastic, and that thought sends a cold, sobering shock through his veins. Just how good of an actor must Felix be? Just as Max had sucked cock for favors in prison, Felix sucked cock in order to eat. To survive. He knows how to make it good for a john and to secure repeat business. Even the pre-lubed ass trick was probably a tactic he’d learned to ensure devastating results. 

What if this were purely about the bet? What if he had been reading things all wrong? How could he have lost sight of the competition with such embarrassing degree? Had he been truly so arrogant and desperate?

Felix’s tongue twists around him like fucking sin, and the answers to those questions suddenly fail to seem important at all. Act or not, it was inhuman how eager Felix was to swallow him down. Inhuman in the way that he didn’t even stutter or gag. Everyone, every single person had struggled to take the size of him, but Felix? It's like he was born for it. Max doesn’t dare think about the implications of that. He didn't want to think about how any sort of revelation like that fits in with the Grand Plan. And that's the problem with Felix. He makes him not want to think. If only logic and reason were this contagious.

If this were all an act, then maybe it didn’t make a difference. It was amazing. Felix’s mouth is amazing. His tongue works to lick up every last morsel of dried come, saliva, and sweat. His throat is even better when, satisfied that he had cleaned every inch Max off, takes him in deep. 

_Fuck my face_ , he recalls in vivid detail. No one ever let him do such a thing. They always gagged and choked. Always. But not Felix. Felix wouldn’t disappoint him now, would he? 

“Gonna fuck your face, sweetheart,” Max says. _Sweetheart?_ Where the fuck did that even come from? He can’t even pretend to walk that one back.

But Felix is moaning all around him. Pops off to croak out, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please,” he swallows, gulping down air. “ _Max._ ”

“Use your words.”

“Just fucking _use_ me,” he begs, emphasizing with an aborted thrust of his hips, like he was going to explode again all over the kitchen floor they just spent hours scrubbing.

Unable to deny a plea like that, Max grabs him roughly by the hair. Guides him back to his cock, and _thrusts._ There’s nothing at all fancy or finessed about the way Felix just takes him then, takes all of him, again and again and again, tears streaming down his ruddy face. Like he’s resigned, that his role was to be a fucktoy made expressly for Max’s personal use. Laws. That thought gets him off even more than watching Felix blow his load all over himself. He can still smell it.

“Gonna come,” Max bites out. His impending orgasm rushes over him, ambushes him, barreling toward the station at frightening speed. He wishes this could have lasted longer, but it can’t be helped, not with the way Felix is grunting and gasping. Not while his hot saliva streams down over his balls and taint. “You’re gonna-, gonna fucking swallow it.”

Felix groans again, as if he’d die if he didn’t. And with a few more staggered thrusts, Max grants him the privilege when his orgasm explodes from him, forcing out fractured snorts and grunts like a fucking primal. He feeds his cock straight to the back of Felix's awaiting throat, shuddering with the tidal force of his climax.

When the last spurt disappears down Felix’s throat, he collapses back against the sofa cushions, boneless and chest heaving. The soft mop of hair in his hand disappears. He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t think much at all, not until there’s a pair of warm lips pressing against his own.

It startles him back into his body. Felix is...is _kissing_ him. Honest-to-Laws kissing him. People still did that? 

Felix must have felt him going rigid with panic, because he tears himself away with a gasp. “I’m sorry. Max, I’m sorry.”

Max can only stare back, dumbfounded by the creature who apparently found it appropriate to perch himself on his utterly destroyed lap, too. He’s taut like a rubber band, and seems just as likely to fly off in a random direction. 

“Look, I didn’t think-“

Max scowls. This ridiculous, stupid, _infuriating_ man. “No, you don’t _think_ very much at all do you?”

Felix winces as if he slapped him. Starts to slide off of his hips. Oh, no he doesn’t. Max isn’t gentle in the way he grips Felix by the hips so he can’t escape. He’s furious in the way he threads a hand around the back of his stupid, empty head, and fucking lost to his impulses when he slams Felix’s lips back against his. 

He takes full advantage of the shocked gasp made against his insistent lips, an opening that allows his tongue to invade him, lick into him, devour every inch of Felix. He steals the very breath from him. Laws, why did humans ever stop kissing?

Eventually, regrettably, even he has to come up for air. He tears himself away from those rough, enchanting lips, and revels in the blissed-out glaze in Felix’s eyes.

Nearby, the Captain clears their throat.

Oh, right. The bet. 

“Um,” Max starts, clearing his throat. “Right. Very unconventional methods you have here, mister Millstone.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but the curl of his lips is fond. “Same to you, dickhead.”

Max lets himself smile. He’s not sure if he remembers the word for the feeling in his chest, rising like air pressure. Pleasant, even though it feels a bit like drowning.

Felix doesn’t leave his ruined lap, even as he turns to address the Captain. “So? Who wins?”

With a deep blush darkening their cheeks, the Captain says, “Given how, uh, passionate this turned out to be, I’m not sure if that’s my call to make anymore. I think you two should decide the answer.”

It’s fucking corny, but Max can’t deny the sentiment. It corrupts his thoughts as much as a handful of Felix’s incredible ass. “I think mister Millstone deserves the win. Alright, I suppose I can part with one of my books.”

“No!” Felix protests, whipping back around. “You can borrow my lucky ball. And I do mean borrow. Just…” he cuts himself off, sighing. His eyes do that thing again where they dart about, looking everywhere else but at him.

“Just what?” Max coaxes out, massaging where he probably left bruises on Felix’s hips.

“Just,” Felix starts, then looks at him squarely in the eye. “Just...fuck me sometime, okay?”

Max makes a strangled noise, his cock valiantly attempting to rise again. As if that weren’t already a foregone conclusion. Still, he raises his eyebrow, and turns to the Captain. As much as he wants to, more than determining the Equation, he’s not certain of the Captain’s policy on fraternization. “Captain?” he says, hoping it poses enough of the question he really wants to ask. _Can he? Please?_

“No fucking whatsoever on my ship. Not even handjobs. That’s a non-negotiable,” the Captain states. But there’s a pause, and a twinkle in the eye. “But while we’re in port, and I don’t need either of you with me in the field? You’re grown adults, so do whatever you like. Just be back onboard by the time we leave, or else I will leave your horny asses behind. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Felix says.

“You have my word,” Max echoes.

And with that, the Captain turns about and leaves the kitchen in the direction of the hall. Max doesn’t miss the chuckle that echoes along the steel interior. 

With his hands snaking around his nape, Felix asks him, “What should we tell the rest of the crew?”

Max shrugs. He really can’t be bothered to care. Pulls him in for another searing kiss. When he pulls back, he nods towards the washroom and says, “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up first.”

Felix frowns. “The Captain said no fucking on the ship.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” As he says it, a devious idea hits him. “But come to think of it, wouldn’t you say the showers at the Rest-n-Go might be a little roomier?”

The frown wipes away in an instant. With infectious enthusiasm, Felix plants another kiss on him and leaps up from his lap. “Well? Come on. Just let me grab up my lube. Don’t even want to think about what Gladys is charging these days.”

The enigma of human irrationality will always confound him. But as he fixes himself up to follow on its heels, he’ll bet his favorite book that he won’t mind a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated-- even if it's just a big WTF. Also aware of the missed opportunity to get the Captain involved, but maybe that's later, idk. I'm just writing trash here ppl


End file.
